


An Exercise in Patience, No. 1

by talesofsuspense



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: April Fools' Day, Art Critic Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gratuitous Shoutout to Tolkien, M/M, Marcel Duchamp & Dadaism, Pepper Potts & Steve Rogers Friendship, Tony is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:53:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18312326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsuspense/pseuds/talesofsuspense
Summary: Tony Stark has horrible taste in art... Or does he?





	An Exercise in Patience, No. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I remembered it was April Fools' Day and I had this idea of Tony being a little shit about art to mess with Steve stuck in my head for weeks. What a better time to put it to use, right? Plus, the world could always use more artist/art lover/art critic Steve, and I'm an absolute sucker for the idea of Pepper and Steve being friends. I'm dedicating this one to Emilia (and everyone else who finds dadaism — and Duchamp, specifically — as insufferable as us).
> 
> Unbeta'd and written in like an hour so, there are probably mistakes.
> 
> (Also, Steve actually does read Tolkien in early 616 canon, so... not totally unwarranted.)

Steve should’ve known from the excited bouncing Tony was doing, up and down on his toes while he waited for Steve to mark his page in his worn copy of  _ The Silmarillion _ . He should’ve known something was up. He didn’t though, because he has a poor memory at the worst of times and apparently far too high of expectations for Tony’s level of maturity.

 

“I got you a present,” Tony had said. Steve had furrowed his brows at that, trying to remember if he’d forgotten a special occasion or something, but Tony just waved his hand at the look on his face, reading his mind. “No, no special occasion. I just know how much you love art; Pepper told me about you two bonding over artists the other night. I told her to give you my ticket to the new gallery opening downtown, by the way. You don’t even have to wear a suit, it’s indie enough. I don’t even know if indie is used in the art world or if it’s just music and movies. Whatever, point is: you and Pepper? Art buddies? I’m totally in support. Now come on, I picked this out just for you.”

 

So Steve had followed him down the hallway toward his own bedroom. He was a little excited, if he was being honest. He did love art, and the walls had been a little bare. It was maddening to look at when he couldn’t sleep— blank whiteness. Art would give him something to focus on and dissect before he dragged himself out of bed. And if Tony consulted Pepper about this (and Steve assumed he did) it had to be good. 

 

Steve also should’ve known by the way the corner of Tony’s mouth kept twitching upwards all the way down the hall, ticking up more and more that he was practically smirking by the time he got the door open. Steve had followed him in, smiling a little to himself,  _ excited _ to see this new art Tony bought just for him. He really should’ve known better.

 

“You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get a print of this. I mean really, you’d think it’s the  _ Mona Lisa _ or something. I had to have it done custom. I hope you appreciate the effort. And I have the book that goes with it on its way from a local print shop, so don’t worry, you’ll get the full experience. I’m hoping not having the actual glass like at the museum doesn’t take away from the piece at all,” Tony was rambling, gesturing up at the wall behind Steve’s bed. And Steve, well, he had stopped at the foot of his bed, his jaw dropping. And that’s how he’s still standing, frozen to the ground. 

 

Hanging above his bed is a huge — seriously ridiculously large — print of Marcel Duchamp’s _ The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even _ . Steve’s thankful it isn’t an actual replica of the glass piece and instead just a framed paper print. The last thing he needs is glass shattering onto his head when he sleeps. His mind is buzzing a little, unsure how to process this. Tony’s still talking, too. Going on and on about how he’d researched the piece and more of Duchamp’s work. God, Steve thought, Tony went through all this trouble. All this work to pick this out for Steve and it’s the ugliest thing Steve has ever laid his eyes on. He has a war going on in his mind, trying to decide between keeping the damn thing up so Tony thinks he likes it, or trying to sneak it down and out of the tower to be burnt to ash like it deserves. One of his fingers twitch with the urge to rip it down right now and he thinks that he’s in Tony’s room more, anyway, and he probably wouldn’t even notice if Steve had it discreetly disposed of.

 

“Did you know this was displayed in the Brooklyn Museum in the twenties? I figured you’d appreciate something from Brooklyn. Did you go see it? Well, probably not, you were a little young then,” Tony continues on as if he’s just thinking aloud. “So, do you like it? You’re kind of quiet over there. Come here.”

 

Steve takes a few stumbling steps over to where Tony is standing, on the side of the bed, even closer to the abomination hanging on the wall that Steve refuses to call art. He’s trying his hardest to compose himself, stretching his lips into what he hopes looks more like a smile than a grimace. Tony has his hand outstretched and Steve intertwines their fingers, telling himself to relax his shoulders.

 

“Yeah, yeah it’s great Tony,” Steve lies, letting out a whistling breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Tony squeezes his hand a little and Steve has to resist the urge to laugh. Leave it to his boyfriend to find the ugliest piece of art and hang it cruelly above Steve’s head. Right where he sleeps and everything. “Just a little overwhelmed. This couldn’t have been cheap.”

 

“Money is but a set of numbers, Steve,” Tony says, pitching his voice into the horrible British accent he does when he’s trying to sound more proper, he calls it his ‘high society’ voice. Steve shoots him a smile that comes a little easier than before in the face of Tony’s absurdity. “But that’s not the only piece I got you.”

 

“Oh?” Steve asks, closing his eyes for a few seconds to count his breaths. Nothing can be worse than this, he tells himself.

 

“Yeah, come on,” Tony grins tugging on his arm until Steve starts moving. Tony walks him to the bathroom and pushes the door open, letting go of Steve’s hand to make a sweeping gesture at the wall. “Ta da!”

 

Honestly, Steve is lucky the counter is right next to him because he thinks he might collapse otherwise. On the far wall, right next to sink, is a smaller print of Duchamp’s  _ Fountain _ . He can’t stop looking it, feeling his blood pressure raise just a little just at the sight. Steve sucks in a breath, trying for a smile, “Wow, Tony. It- it really matches the theme of the room, huh?”

 

“Nothing but the best for my man,” Tony says, voice a little raspy. Steve shoots him a questioning look at the sound of it, doing a double take when he sees the flush crawling up Tony’s neck and the way a vein is popping a little on his forehead. “I’m sorry I can’t keep this up. God, Steve.”

 

Steve watches, mouth hanging open, as Tony doubles over with laughter, clutching at the door handle to his right. Tony’s taking deep shuddering breaths in between loud, obnoxious laughs that Steve finds unbearably endearing. Still, he’s a little annoyed and a lot confused, and he can’t resist crossing his arms over his chest, trying to fight a smile as he watches Tony finally calm down. He waits until Tony straightens back up, wiping tears from his eyes, to ask, “So what was that all about?”

 

“It’s April Fools’ Day, you absolute fool,” Tony says, grinning so wide Steve thinks his cheeks must hurt with. Steve gapes at him, opening and closing his mouth. “You really were trying so hard oh my god. I haven’t laughed that hard since Clint lost that bet against Thor.”

 

“That was two days ago,” Steve points out, grumbling a little. He can feel a blush climbing over the top of his cheeks. He’s a little embarrassed, feeling like he’s the punchline to a joke, which, he kind of is. “And are you telling me I stood there and made an idiot of myself trying to pretend to like Duchamp so my boyfriend wouldn’t be hurt, and it’s all a joke?”

 

“Yeah, well that’s what happens when you live with a bunch of idiots,” Tony shrugs, walking around Steve so they’re standing chest to, hooking his arms around Steve’s neck. He’s still grinning and Steve has to resist the urge to give in to his contagious smile again. “And that is exactly what I’m saying. Sweetheart, I may be hopeless with art, but I’m not  _ that _ hopeless. Dada is for art critics who are so lost in their own pretentiousness they’d call a framed picture of a gum wrapper art.”

 

“I can’t believe you, you ass. I really was wondering how to get rid of that without you finding out and being upset,” Steve grumbles, pouting even as he gives in to a small smile when Tony starts pressing kisses all over his face. He uncrosses his own arms finally, wrapping them around Tony’s waist, “And a gum wrapper would be more artistic than any of Duchamp’s pieces.”

 

“You know I love when you talk art to me,” Tony sighs dramatically, pretending to fan himself and pressing a last kiss to Steve’s jaw. “God I love you. You’re too sweet. I promise you I will never buy you art as a surprise without consulting Pepper.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says with a smile, pressing a kiss onto the top of Tony’s head. “Now help me take these pieces down. I can’t sleep knowing they’re up. And I want an original Michelangelo painting for my birthday to make up for this.”

 

\----

 

Later that night, Pepper almost drops her glass of champagne laughing at the story when Steve tells it, walking next to her through the new art gallery. At least, Steve thinks, there are no Duchamp-wannabes here.


End file.
